


insert cabinet man lyric here

by louser



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Field Trip, Getting Together, High School, M/M, Oblivious Dib, it makes sense because when i was in hs my theater class went to dave and buster’s, their history class goes on a field trip to the arcade and they play games that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louser/pseuds/louser
Summary: Dib jumped, smacking his head against the glass. “Ow! Zim, go away!”Zim, instead of doing as he was told, snickered as he observed Dib from the other side of the machine. “Zim will go away once he has obtained all of the prize currency from this- ah-““Crane game,” Dib supplied automatically, and Zim’s lips twisted into a grimace.“Claw machine. I was going to say claw machine.”
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	insert cabinet man lyric here

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested listening for this fic is I Do I Do I Do by Creamy, just for the DDR scene. 
> 
> My inspiration was going to an arcade, seeing that the curtains were missing from Jurassic Park, and going, “I bet people were making out in there.” 
> 
> Also I was going to rate this teen, but then I realized that I didn’t add in any curses for once, and the kiss was super short and tame, so I didn’t. If someone thinks I should bump it back up for some reason, though, I will.

His classmates wouldn’t be aware of this, but Dib was picky about arcades. He didn’t have a personal reason for it; mostly, he had an almost Pavlovian reaction to establishments of sufficient quality to satisfy Gaz, because when they entered one that didn’t fit the bill, she made it known quickly and efficiently. When one was found that did meet her requirements, it was possible to spend an evening in relative peace, and he felt all of his muscles automatically relax. Dib may or may not have used the arcade card to enlist her help on any number of missions since Bloaty’s Pizza Hog had closed indefinitely for its internal investigation into those insanely detailed cannibalism allegations, so he had a lot of time to figure out which places were good and which were not. 

This one, which was the location of their latest field trip, was not. For a number of reasons. The games were old but not nearly enough to be considered vintage, the volume was set to the maximum level for each one (which created a deafening cacophony of chiptunes and dying zombie screams no matter which corner of the building you tried to hide away in and detracted from the overall experience), and the prizes weren’t even good. The best thing he could see was a pair of night-vision goggles on the top shelf behind the counter, made entirely inaccessible to him by the glaring price tag of 100,000 tickets. 

The goggles probably sucked, and his dad could build him a better pair- hell, he could build _ himself  _ a better pair- but some deep, primal part of him wanted to win them, needed the satisfaction of ripping open that flimsy green-and-black box in front of all of his history classmates and seeing the awe on their faces as they realized that Dib Membrane was the one who succeeded where they could not. He had the practice. Who else could hope to get enough tickets for them? 

Dib turned away from the prize counter and surveyed the floor once again. If he wanted to win the most tickets in the least amount of time, he would have to be smart about it. There was a crane game that he could win up to a thousand at, and skee ball was almost too easy, but then things started to get a little harder… 

Crane game first, then. From what he could see with his nose pressed up against the glass, there were only five rolls of one thousand tickets, five rolls of five hundred, ten rolls of one hundred, and countless rolls of fifty and ten. If he got all of the big ones, that still only left him at 8500 tickets overall, but it was a really good start. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dib jumped, smacking his head against the glass. “Ow! Zim, go away!” 

Zim, instead of doing as he was told, snickered as he observed Dib from the other side of the machine. “Zim will go away once he has obtained all of the prize currency from this- ah-“

“Crane game,” Dib supplied automatically, and Zim’s lips twisted into a grimace.

“Claw machine. I was going to say claw machine.” 

“Well, sorry for trying to help. Won’t happen again.” That was a lie and they both knew it. Their rivalry was going strong even as they prepared for graduation, with physical violence remaining a staple of the strange relationship that they had built over the years, but school’s pressures had forced them into a sort of truce when around their classmates- which then evolved into putting a pause on some of Zim’s bigger plans for world domination when they were both too tired or needed too much time to study to commit to a fight. Sometimes it was a little too easy to start treating each other like normal people. “What do you want tickets for, anyways? There’s nothing good up there.” 

Zim pointed back to the prize counter, where Dib now noticed a giant stuffed moose that sat on a shelf just below the goggles and was marked as being worth ten thousand tickets. The night-vision goggles were probably sucky as sucky could be, but the moose was definitely terrible. Even from this distance, it was obvious that the stupid thing was made from crappy felt stitched over a wad of cotton into the barest facsimile of a moose. The antlers were  _ cardboard.  _ Dib could not imagine why on earth Zim would put any effort at all into winning it, but he didn’t have to wonder very long. “That moose is the perfect decoration to strike fear into the hearts of all who enter my base without invitation! You see, the moose is-”

“Nobody goes to your house but me,” Dib muttered. “Anyways,  _ I  _ got here first, and  _ I’m  _ going to be the one who empties this game!” 

“That’s what you think! But I have already begun to implement my foolproof plan!” 

The tickets in the machine ricocheted off the walls as GIR erupted out of them, a couple bouncing back to hit him in the face and one landing itself perfectly around one of his suit’s ears. To Dib’s horror, it was a coveted roll of one thousand. 

“That’s cheating!” Dib snapped, because it was. If this were one of the places that he and Gaz frequented, there would have been alarms going off at every door, and a small army of workers would come to escort the cheater from the premises, but this place was apparently so sad and behind the times that security was lax. The man behind the prize counter took one look at them and shrugged, and the security guard at the strength game a few feet away was too busy pulling at a quarter that was stuck halfway in the slot to notice. 

“How can it be cheating if there are no posted rules?” Smug as ever, Zim tapped the glass. “Grab the tickets and get out now, GIR!” 

“Yes, sir!” The robot answered with a salute before diving back into the pile. Both Dib and Zim watched it shift above him for several moments, the bump that indicated GIR’s presence moving from one end of the machine to the other, at times disappearing completely, before GIR emerged once more, still very much inside the crane game. ”Yay! I’m stuck!” 

“Go through the prize slot!”

“The whaaaat?”

“The- just wait! I’ll come get you!”

Zim immediately ran to the front of the machine and stuck his arm through the gigantic prize slot, which he probably could have fit through as easily as GIR had if not for the fact that Dib picked him up by the back of his uniform and pulled him, struggling and hissing, back to his feet. 

“I’ll get him out for you, just don't get yourself stuck in there too!” Dib hip-checked the muttering alien out of the way and fed a quarter into the machine. “Seriously, you could break it, and then we really will get kicked out!”

“And what do you get for helping me, hm?” 

“All the tickets that come out with him.”

“You-! Fine!” Zim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as Dib maneuvered the claw over GIR’s wiggling form. “I don’t need them anyways. I could get the amount I need from any of the games in this pitiful establishment! It will be SO EASY! You, on the other hand, need this even easier game. So I will graciously allow you to-“

“Can you let me concentrate?” The claw began to lower itself just as Dib turned to snap at Zim, and GIR seemed to go stock-still in anticipation, only his little robotic hands twitching erratically under the dogsuit as he was entirely missed. Not even a ticket roll got caught on the claw, which returned to the prize slot empty-handed while Zim laughed and Dib turned red. 

He was distracted! Distracted! These games were designed to make the player fail, and Zim was ruining his concentration, which was sorely needed to break the system! 

“Don’t talk to me this time,” Dib said as he shoved another quarter into the slot. Taking a deep breath, he tilted his head to one side and then the other before moving the claw once again. This time, it lowered itself directly onto GIR’s head. “Ha! See-“

The claw closed around GIR’s neck before slipping upwards and off without moving him at all. 

“Let me do it!” Zim surged forward to grab at the joystick, but Dib managed to shove him back and maintain control. 

“That was bad luck! This time for sure!” 

“Pull more to the right!” 

“It won’t get him if I go any more to the right!” 

“Ugh! GIR, grab onto the claw when it comes down!” 

GIR’s bulging, fake dog eyes blinked (Dib… still didn’t know how that worked), and he nodded once at the command. As soon as the claw had descended far enough to be within reach, GIR reached upwards and clung to it for dear life, but just when victory seemed to be within reach, he squealed and dropped himself back into the pool of tickets. Dib would be frustrated, but he’d been in the robot’s company enough times to be desensitized to this particular brand of nonsense. 

No matter how many years of ruined plans passed, however, Zim never seemed to get used to his commands being either completely ignored or followed to a disastrous T. Now he banged a fist against the front pane of the machine, seething. “Why would you do that?!” 

GIR looked up and shivered. “It was scary up there.” 

Well. Yeah. That sounded like GIR logic, alright. Dib dropped his hand from the joystick and took a step backwards, looking over the rest of the arcade for the third time that day. There were so many other games to get tickets at, it would be a waste to sit at this one and end up with nothing but a robot he didn’t own and a roll of one thousand. And that was all he would get. By the time that GIR was extracted, he knew for a fact that he would be sick to death of that stupid machine. 

“Where are you going?” Zim asked as Dib began the ten foot trek to the miniature basketball booth. 

Dib waved back nonchalantly. “I’m done with that game. You can have it.” 

“Why, is there a better one?” GIR’s predicament forgotten already, Zim trotted after him. 

Dib cocked an eyebrow as they came to the machine. “You’re just gonna leave him there?”

“He’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure-“

“HE WILL BE FINE. Look at him, he likes it in there! What are we playing next?” 

_ “I’m  _ playing basketball. You should go find something else.” Dib paid for his round and picked up the nearest ball, which was half flat and covered in something sticky, before tossing it through the net with a  _ swish.  _ This, at least, was something that he could do quickly and easily; what better exercise was there to hone his hand-eye coordination than the many times he’d thrown things at Zim during their battles? 

Speaking of- Zim was still standing right there, watching him with an expression of intense boredom. 

Dib paused after his fifth throw and turned to face him. “Are you waiting on the game or on me?”

“Zim is… waiting, yes.”

“That didn’t answer my question, like, at all.” 

“It is none of your business what I am waiting for!” 

“Fine then! You’re going to be there a long time, because-“ The final buzzer sounded, and a string of ten tickets stuttered its way out of the machine while Dib tried his hardest not to lose his cool. Okay. Okay! So this wasn’t the most time-efficient game, especially if he was going to be ignoring it to argue with Zim the whole time. That was fine. He just- he needed a different one. Again. 

Zim groaned, tapping a foot on the bowling alley-esque carpet. “You picked a boring one. Either of us could beat it with our eyes closed! Pick something fun this time!” 

“Why do you care what I play? Mind your own business! Go win your moose or whatever!” 

“I trust your judgement on the best method to win tickets in the least amount of time,” Zim huffed. “Only because you are marginally more intelligent than the rest of our stupid human classmates. And I’m not familiar with Earth arcades.” 

That was interesting. Despite his better judgment, Dib looked down at Zim and pulled out another handful of quarters, debating what the best game was to keep his attention. Okay, so maybe he didn’t mind having some company if it meant that he could learn something from it. “There are space arcades?” 

Seeming to pick up on the fact that he had won the battle, Zim grinned triumphantly. “Of course! And they’re a shmillion times better than this disgusting excuse for a building!” 

* * *

“What’s that one?” 

Zim pointed to the dilapidated DDR machine, and when Dib only grimaced and attempted to jog away from it, he grabbed him by the coat sleeve and dragged him over to it. 

God, Dib hated DDR. It didn’t even give out tickets, it just made any idiot stupid enough to step onto its metal death trap look like a fool in front of anyone who happened to pass by. Like him. It made Dib look bad every time he forgot his previous hardships and decided to try again, if not because he almost always tripped and fell partway through the song (I Do I Do I Do. He picked it every time. It was a grudge by now, a part of the experience, something that he had to overcome), then because he was never able to score above a C. 

For a second he considered slipping his coat off and running for the hills, but he could never do that to his baby. That coat was worth more to him than his car, and he’d never forgive himself if Zim ruined it in the short time that it was in his possession. 

“It’s a stupid game. We’re not going to play it.” 

All of the machine’s lights flashed at once while the game’s voice called for anyone with the skills to try a song. If there was anything in the world that would beckon to Zim more than that obnoxious display, Dib would eat his own shoes. Damn it. 

Predictably, Zim tugged harder, yanking Dib over to the twin dance pads. “Explain to Zim how it works.” 

Dib stepped onto the left pad and pushed two quarters into the slot (stupid thing was more expensive, too!), tapping the buttons on both sides before motioning for Zim to join him. The alien did so gleefully, jumping onto the platform with enough force that it creaked. “You just stomp on the arrows when they correspond to the ones on the screen. You might want to be gentler about it than, uh, you just were.” 

“Psh! Nah.” 

Figured. Dib rolled his eyes as he scrolled through the available songs, though it was a useless display. He already knew what he was going to pick. His fingers wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise. 

“I want to pick the song,” Zim said, reaching for the controls, but Dib hit the select button before he could do anything about it. Zim’s expression soured. Dib laughed. 

“You picked the game, so I get to pick the song. It’s only fair.” 

Just this once, Dib found himself actually enjoying the song as it began to play and the arrows descended the screen, only because Zim immediately began screeching about how unpleasant it was to listen to. He almost wanted it to be longer, just so he could watch Zim clutch his antennae through his wig while trying to dance for another few minutes. 

When the song ended and their scores were displayed- Ds for both- Dib couldn’t help but grin as he hopped back onto the grimy carpet. 

“That was prom all over again!” Zim growled, kicking the machine. 

“That was  _ not  _ as bad as prom,” Dib scoffed. He abhorred Dance Dance Revolution with every fiber of his being, but at least it was over in three minutes, tops. Prom had been a hellish evening that felt like it was never going to end, full of bad music and bad dancing like every other school dance, except this time he had to pay to get in. He and Zim had come separately, but they ended up sitting at a table in the corner together for most of the night, fighting and chatting at intervals. There wasn't much else to do except suffer. The one time that they had attempted to dance ended… not so well. 

“It was a smaller, more concentrated dosage of prom misery!” The machine rattled again as Zim launched himself off of it. “It was the prom of games! It should be destroyed!” He shuddered and then kicked it again, which he might have done until his threat was carried through had Dib not grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him away, still hurling insults. “Disgusting dancing machine! Why do humans love dancing so much, anyway?!”

Now there was an idea. Zim needed to play a game that was more suited to Irken tastes if Dib wanted him to shut up, right? Then, while he was distracted, Dib could lose him to go and get the tickets he needed before the field trip ended. And, from what he had gathered about irken culture over the years, what they were most familiar with was…

“Okay. So, this one is called Street Fighter,” Dib explained. 

“I can see that.” 

“Yeah, well, shut up. The point of the game is to beat up the other guy. So… do that.” 

A look of interest found its way onto Zim’s face before he could hide it, and he took over the controls enthusiastically. Unfortunately, his ability to play did not match his enthusiasm, and his character was knocked to the ground over and over again, in a match that began to look plain sad. Zim tensed with each hit to his character, until in a moment of fury he ripped the joystick out of the machine and threw it to the ground. “Zim is too good for this place! It’s nowhere as good as Arcadikon! One day we’ll go, and you can see a  _ real  _ fighting simulation, where you can feel the bloodspray on your face!”

“Ew.” Dib blinked. “Um. I’m sure this place doesn't have VR or anything, but we’ll find something more first-person. That ought to work better.” 

The nearest thing to a first-person fighting game that Dib could think of was that one dinosaur shooting game sequestered away in the very back. He couldn't remember the name, since he wasn't allowed to watch the movies; something about scientific inaccuracy and prioritizing the public’s sense of nostalgia over fact, yadda yadda yadda. Still, he and Gaz had played it a few times. The setup was fun, with black curtains that enclosed the small bench and giant screen, making it feel almost as if the game were taking place in a miniature movie theater. 

They slid onto the bench at the same time, from opposite ends of the booth. Dib paid for the both of them to play before picking up his bright blue plastic gun and motioning for Zim to do the same, which he did with raised eyebrow ridges. 

The level began with their characters riding in the back of a roofless vehicle. Zim watched the screen with a deep intensity, and Dib watched Zim in much the same way. It wasn’t often that he was able to observe Zim in ‘serious battle mode,’ since, you know, usually he had to be watching his own back whenever it happened. Besides, Zim never seemed particularly serious about any of their battles lately. Even when they weren’t burnt out from schoolwork, the few times that they had really tussled always seemed to end with Zim looking more giddy than anything. Not that Zim didn’t usually appear to enjoy his work of bringing about Armageddon. Anyone could see that he took great pride in his job, but Dib was beginning to suspect that maybe- just maybe- his nemesis was beginning to enjoy fighting for the sake of fighting, not just because it was part of some convoluted, world-ending scheme. Maybe part of Dib was the same. 

The point was, he appreciated the opportunity to watch as Zim stared hard at the screen, antennae twitching almost imperceptibly underneath his new wig. Seeing him like this- all quiet and attentive and still as the grave- was strange in a pleasant sort of way. 

A scientifically inaccurate representation of a velociraptor erupted from behind a building, and Zim shot it almost as soon as it appeared, along with the wave of others that followed, even as the vehicle’s driving became faster and more erratic. Dib barely had to do anything but watch the dinosaurs fall one after another. Bang. Gone. Bang. Gone. Bang. Gone. 

His Zim (or, uh, the Zim that he was used to seeing) returned a moment later, cackling maniacally as his shots grew wilder, hitting humans and containers of explosives that were too close to their characters until the words ‘GAME OVER: INSERT COINS TO CONTINUE’ inevitably flashed across the screen. 

“Yes, Dib, continue the game!” Zim demanded. 

“Geez, just give me a second!” Dib fumbled with the coins inside of his pocket but was able to insert enough to resume their deadly dinosaur adventure before the timer ran out. “You know you’re only supposed to kill the dinosaurs, right? Not humans. Or ourselves.” 

“That’s no fun.” Zim shot another two velociraptors and then tapped up the barrel of Dib’s gun. “You won’t shoot  _ anything!” _

“I mean, it looks like you’ve got it handled without me, so I’ll just-” As Dib began to place the gun back into its holder, Zim tapped the barrel up once again. 

“I don't want you to  _ leave,  _ I want you to kill things with me!”

“Seriously? You don't even need me for this.” 

“Eh, someone should be witness to the original Earthanoids’ crushing defeat at the hands of Zim. Or something.”

“Or something.” Dib half-heartedly shot at a tiny dinosaur that he didn't know the name of. Zim was acting way too weird today. Like… clingy weird. Though, Zim had always been kind of clingy weird; it just wasn't generally aimed at Dib. There was a strange time after his brief stint working at Membrane Labs that Zim refused to go even a day without getting Dib’s attention in some obnoxious way (the worst of it being the day that Zim melted his shoes to the floor so that he literally could not leave), but for the most part, it seemed pretty limited to Zim’s relationship with his leaders, sometimes to inanimate objects or- on good days- GIR and/or Minimoose. 

He was going to comment on it, but just as he began to speak, he heard the world’s most hilarious sound. 

“You’re humming the song,” Dib said with a laugh. 

The humming abruptly ended. “Nuh uh.”

“Yeah huh! You totally were!” It was unmistakable; Zim had been humming the DDR song loudly enough for Dib to hear it over the game, and not only that, but he looked  _ into it.  _ He was nodding his head and everything! “You actually liked it!”

“YOU LIE! Zim did not enjoy the song, it was just catchy!” 

“Oh, I’m sure. Listen, if you like it so much, I can sing it for you! Here-”

“Do not! I will rip out your tongue and-”

“Gimme a second to remember how it starts- oh yeah!” Dib cleared his throat while Zim watched on in horror. “ALL THE DAYS WHEN WE JUST PLAYED-”

Zim shoved at Dib’s shoulder, game forgotten, but was unsuccessful in his efforts to stop Dib’s new method of torture. 

“BACK IN SCHOOL JUST ME AND YOU-”

“I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!”

“I forget the next few lines, but then it goes: I DO I DO I DO-”

“NO-“

“I DO LOVE YOU! AND DO YOU DO YOU DO-“

Dib laughed against Zim’s gloved hand as it slammed over his mouth. It wasn't painful, which was a little surprising considering Dib knew from firsthand experience that Zim could easily hit him hard enough to knock out a few teeth if he wanted to, but he wasn't going to complain. The GAME OVER message was once again taking over the screen, and he realized that Zim had also forgotten to play while turning his attention onto Dib, the fake gun pressed up under Dib’s rib cage between them. 

God, there was something kind of hot about that. 

...God, there was something kind of wrong with Dib. 

“Stop singing,” Zim said. 

Dib nodded, and the hand was removed from his face. “I have a quick question now.” 

“I’ll only answer if I feel like it.” 

“Fine. We haven’t been getting any tickets for, like, the last ten minutes, so why are we still hanging out?” 

Zim scooted himself back to the other end of the bench, though there wasn't much room on it in the first place, and shoved the gun back into its holder. “Eh? Uhhh… We haven't? Strange. I mean- that was my plan all along? To distract you from winning… whatever it is that you were trying to win!”

“Nice try, but I know when you’re lying, Zim.”

“Urgh-! Alright, Zim will tell you the truth since you’re too  _ dumb  _ to figure it out yourself!” He poked a finger into Dib’s chest with twice the amount of force that he had used to to cover his mouth, making Dib wince slightly at the contact. That was definitely going to bruise in the morning. “I weighed the benefits of winning my prize against the benefits of spending time with you, and decided that I wanted to do that instead. That’s all.” 

Dib felt his face heat up all at once. “What exactly are the benefits of hanging out with me? I’m not fun to be around or anything.” 

“Lies! Zim has the most fun around you.” Zim blinked and then looked away, seeming to only realize what he had said after it hung in the air between them long enough to make things even more awkward than they already were. “But, uh, not that it means much. Earth is boring. Why are you still spending time with me, huh?” 

Good question. Despite Zim’s protests, Dib could have gone on his merry way at any point during this whole trip. He probably could have had all of the tickets that he needed by now, but he didn’t. 

At the end of the day, Dib didn’t hate spending time with Zim. He even enjoyed it, to an extent. Sometimes. Most of the time. Whatever. 

Dib was finally able to put his own gun back, and he turned to face Zim more fully. “Just because I feel like it, I guess.” 

Zim stared at him for a minute, hard. Dib could almost hear his PAK whirring. “I also have a question.” 

“Shoot.”

“But I just put back-“

“No, I mean- go ahead. With your question.” 

Nothing happened for a moment, and no words left Zim’s mouth as they looked at each other in the dim, cramped space. The air around them felt charged with… with something, though Dib couldn’t put his finger on what. It felt like it did when they fought sometimes, when he wasn’t sure what to do next when Zim was pinned, or when Dib was forced to look up at him from the ground, bruised and energized and full of an aimless want. He tended to assume the unknowable craving was for their cycle of battles to come to an end with him as the victor, but here in the arcade, there was no reason for him to be feeling such a thing. It felt a little like butterflies, but there was no way on Earth that Dib felt butterflies for  _ Zim.  _

Except all of a sudden, there was a pair of lips on his, and it felt like a million tiny wings began to flap at once inside his stomach as it lurched in the most pleasant way. His hands automatically reached out to pull Zim flush against him, one hand on his PAK and the other just beneath it. Zim let out a noise of surprise against Dib’s mouth and readjusted himself, grabbing onto Dib’s shoulders. 

The curtain opened just as Dib’s mouth did. 

“Hey, if you aren’t playing, can you guys take it somewhere else?” 

Two of their classmates stood in the entryway to the machine, looking far too calm for the scene that they had just interrupted. Dib would have expected them to at least seem a  _ little  _ surprised. As it was, regardless of their reaction, he and Zim shot apart instantly, and Dib managed to squawk out at least three entirely unrelated excuses for their position before grabbing the curtain out of their classmate’s hand and dropping it back into place. Rounding on Zim now, Dib tried to speak for several seconds, but could only manage it after actually remembering to breathe. “That… that wasn’t a question.”

“Can we do that again?” 

_ “What?”  _

“That is my question!” Zim didn’t move any closer, but he did straighten up, chest puffing out and eyes meeting Dib’s. 

Dib blew out a puff of air that turned into a groan and began to massage his temples. Nothing was ever simple with Zim. Everything was a big, complicated mess that left Dib feeling even more exasperated and exhilarated than the last. “Now?”

Zim rolled his eyes. “In general.” 

“I don’t understand what’s happening here. Are you, like, experimenting or something? Is this a hormone thing or are you just curious what it’s like to do stuff with an alien race because I thought irkens didn’t even have romantic feelings or whatever because I’m pretty sure you said that to me at some point and even if you did I have no idea why this-“

“Gah! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Dib did as he was told, and Zim clicked his mouth shut with an expression of annoyance. Then, “I am trying to do the Asking You Out! Can we do the stupid human courtship practices together or not?!”

“I… still don’t understand what’s going on here.” 

Zim fell deadly silent. He could be angry all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make Dib any more aware of the situation; this whole day had just been a strange, unforeseeable fever dream, and this was the icing on the cake. Psh. Zim asking him out. Did he think Dib was born yesterday? Of course he wasn’t being serious. They were mortal enemies! They hated each other! And neither of them had the time for that kind of thing anyways! Neither of them  _ wanted  _ that kind of thing! 

Well. Maybe Dib did a little bit. Just a little bit. He wouldn’t lie and say that he hated the idea of having someone to talk to about life without being shot down or made fun of who would also make out with him on occasion, but the only person he spent any time with was Zim. The only person he ever even felt excited at the thought of hanging out with was Zim. And, the only person he’d thought of making out with was Zim, but that was purely and entirely in the name of research. 

Finally, Zim ceased glaring and inhaled deeply. He adjusted himself on the seat so that he knelt on the bench, reaching forward to hold Dib’s face in his hands and squish his cheeks in a way that probably looked ridiculous. “I see that I have not yet proven myself in your primitive human mating rituals. Worry not, Zim will study more and try again! I must have competition if you are able to be so picky, but as I am the best candidate for your “partner,” I am confident that my next attempt will mop your feet away.” 

“First of all, it’s ‘sweep you off your feet,’ and secondly, that is not at all what this is about-“

“No, it is. I will try again, and next time, you will definitely say yes! You won’t be able to resist my charms!” 

“Just drop it! If this is some weird plan of yours, then I don’t want to have to deal with it!” 

The curtains were pulled back once more to reveal the exact same pair of students, who peered into the booth with twin expressions of impatience. “Can you guys please do this somewhere else?” 

This time Zim was the one to free one of his hands and shove the curtain back into place before putting it right back onto Dib’s face. “You will deal with Zim’s feelings! I will not be treated like a- like a- like an inconvenience!” 

“ _ You’re  _ not an inconvenience,” Dib said, grabbing Zim by the wrists and pulling them gently away from his face (you know, in case Zim was grabbing too hard and took some skin away with him or something, not because Dib was feeling weird at the moment). He could make that much clear without being a dick about it, because it was more than obvious at this stage in their frenemies-ish relationship that Zim had some hang-ups. Watching him fail at Dance Dance Revolution was one thing. Causing psychological damage was something else entirely. “It’s just- Listen. I know you guys don’t do relationships on Irk, but it can be a big deal here, and that’s a line I don’t want to cross for the sake of some new evil scheme. That seriously isn’t funny.” 

Zim looked from where Dib’s hands encircled his wrists, to Dib’s face, and back again. “Ah. I see the problem now.” 

“You do? Awesome. Problem solved.” 

“Yeah, you think I’m joking.” 

“I mean… yeah?”

“No.”

“No?”

“This is also a ‘big deal’ for me. Irkens do not give in to weak emotions like  _ luuuuuv _ and  _ friendship.”  _ The flashing lights from the screen illuminated Zim’s face on one side while throwing the rest into deep shadow, accentuating the downward curve of his eyebrow ridges and mouth, and Dib realized for the first time just how different he looked from the first time they met. Physically, Zim hadn’t changed much since they were younger aside from gaining an inch or two, but the range of emotion that he allowed himself to show, especially around Dib, completely changed his appearance. “I am an invader. That’s even worse. I have come to terms with the yucky disgusting friend feelings that I have for certain people, but romance is unneeded and discouraged more than that. I want you anyway. You thinking it’s a joke is stupid.”

Dib’s breath caught in his throat. His grip on Zim’s wrists tightened. 

Zim was so vulnerable like this. He wouldn’t expect it if Dib yanked him out of the booth and ripped the wig off of his head in front of everyone. And he could; Dib knew, somehow, that this could be his best opportunity in years. Zim might never be this unprepared for an attack again. 

Instead, he leaned forward to press his lips against Zim’s.

God, there was something wrong with him. 

“You’re sending mixed signals,” Zim said as Dib pulled away. 

“I want you too,” Dib replied, dropping Zim’s wrists. “This is… kind of a mess, isn’t it?” 

Zim nodded. “Yes, a huge one.” 

They laughed, and exited the booth to a line of waiting students. 

* * *

“Do you think he managed to find the way he went in?” 

The claw machine was exactly how they left it, except that GIR appeared to be missing from its interior, and the field trip chaperone was making her last calls to get on the bus before it left without them. 

Zim shook his head with a grimace. “Yeah, no.” 

“Maybe he’s stuck underneath all the tickets.” The glass walls were intact, which meant that GIR hadn’t smashed his way out, and he probably hadn’t mustered the sense to hop out through the prize slot, so there were limited options as to where the robot could be. If he really was trapped at the bottom of the machine, though… that would be a nightmare to try and remedy. “We could always walk home. Then we could stay and try to lift out the rolls one by one until we uncover him. Or- wait a minute.” 

Off by the main entrance and trotting happily at the heels of a random arcade-goer was GIR, who held onto the stranger’s hand as if they had known each for much longer that what couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. Zim lifted his eyes from the machine and followed Dib’s gaze, letting out a loud noise of annoyance before chasing after the pair with Dib behind him. 

It took enough time for the bus to leave and twenty bucks from Dib’s pocket, but they were able to eventually convince the stranger that she had not won an arcade-approved prize from within the machine, but rather a mischievous pet dog who just so happened to look like a FurReal Friends reject. The exchange was relatively painless (aside from Dib’s monetary losses), and they were ready to leave as soon as it was over with. 

Dib sent a last, longing look at the goggles upon their unreachable pedestal. Winning them in front of everyone would have been the best, but it was too late now. 

Zim looked up at them as well, grabbing GIR by the arm to stop him from running through the automatic doors by himself. “I can make you better ones.”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Dib elbowed him lightly, and he received a playful smack in return. “I’ll buy you a better moose off the internet.” 

“A real one.”

“Definitely not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day!


End file.
